Bandages
by Leather and Stripes
Summary: And he feels like crying because everything about this is so wrong, but Squalo's moving and Dino forgets how to breathe.    Dino/Squalo.  Fill for KHR kink meme.  Mature.


AN: OH GOD I HAVE NO SHAME.

Hello, all. This is Stripes (again. Seriously, what the crap..) de-anoning from the KHR kink meme to post...my fill. I started this months ago and it took forever, but I finally finished it and posted it and _man_ did it suck my soul out. Perhaps one day I'll post it on my LJ as well, but a total of 3 people actually comment on my entries and actively are on there, so for now I'll just post it here for you lovely people. Who I love dearly.

And I'm shutting up now.

**Prompt: Dino/Squalo-Medical Treatment turns sexual after Squalo cuts off his arm.**

**Warning: Shameless (and possibly vague) smut. Yaoi. Dino/Squalo. Don't like, kindly move along.**

Cheers!

~Stripes

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><p><strong>.:Bandages:.<strong>

**xxx  
><strong>

"You're an idiot, you know that?" he mumbles, fingers fumbling with the bandages, desperately trying to ignore the slick red he knows will stain his skin.

Squalo snorts, face contorted in a grimace that is trying so hard to be a smirk. "I never asked for your help, Cavallone."

And it's because he didn't ask for help, bandages haphazardly hanging from a bloody stub, eyes glazed over with pain and fear and everything that Squalo, with all his insults and vivacious grins, should just not have the capacity to _feel_, that Dino has more blood on his hands than he thinks he ever will again. It's those eyes that make him choke down the bile threatening to rise in his throat and be strong for once in his goddamn life because _fuck_ that is a lot of blood.

He ignores the bitter taste coating his tongue, adding what he's sure is the millionth layer of gauze and praying that he's imagining Squalo's pulse weakening. "Shut up. You can't tie a knot to save your life."

"And is that what you're trying to do?" Dino catches the way the other boy's voice wavers, words sounding breathier than they should. But he laughs all the same, even if it lacks anything resembling humor. "Are you trying to be my hero?"

"No," he nearly yells back. But maybe, _just maybe_, he wants to be the one to save someone. To save Squalo. He's sick of being the damsel in distress, and as much as those fierce gray eyes are trying to stay strong, Dino knows inside he's screaming.

And those same gray eyes are watching him, glazed over just enough to make Dino's heart stammer before he has to look away. He fumbles again, knotting the bandages a bit too tight and earning himself a hiss from the other.

"It's okay to ask for help, Squalo."

Dino feels the piercing gaze without looking up, focusing so hard on the intricate little knots he has no idea how to tie, fingers sliding against skin and bandages and blood before he even has the nerve to stare back. And when he does, he sees the pain hiding just under the angry (always _so damn angry_) surface, and, for once, wishes that Squalo was a normal human being and would beg and cry and _plead_ for release. For the pain to go away.

He nearly laughs. As much he can wish for the swordsman to show something other than pride and disdain, that would be wishing for Squalo to simply stop being Squalo. The thought is enough to make his chest burn.

Squalo is looking at him again, pale cheeks devoid of any color, and Dino has a hard time looking away. He watches the other's lips part slightly, the small movement entirely too vulnerable, and he decides he likes it. Because Squalo is too ambitious, too loud, and too pretty for his own good.

Red is starting to soak through the new layers (upon layers_ and layers_) of gauze when Dino notices Squalo's hand on his knee, knuckles white and nails digging into the fabric without remorse. His stomach lurches when he sees the other boy sway ever so slightly.

"Hey, Squalo…Squalo, you okay?" Dino's hand reaches out to grip his shoulder, the other hand resting gingerly over the bandages at Squalo's wrist. He feels the warm liquid welling up under his touch and resists the urge to pull away.

"That's a stupid question," the swordsman slurs, his grip on Dino's knee growing tighter.

"What should I-"

"S-shut up." The words should have been harsh but instead sound weak and fleeting, and Dino's heart sinks. His mind is full of an endless list of _should have, would have, could have_, but Squalo's glaring at him again, and so he stops cursing himself, just for this moment.

"Squalo," he murmurs, knowing he sounds corny and expecting a punch in the jaw when his hand moves silver hair away from his eyes, red smearing against that pretty face and sticking to the bright strands.

And Squalo looks at him, really, _truly_, looks at him, and Dino might be going crazy, but he thinks he sees some green just at the center of those gray eyes staring with such determination into his own. He watches the lips part again, a tentative pink tongue darting out to wet chapped skin and sees the words forming before any sound can reach his ears.

"Dino…t-than-"

And he doesn't want to because Squalo looks just how Squalo should _not_ look, but that's exactly why he does.

The lips under his own are cracked and on the verge of bleeding, and Dino wants to slow down because Squalo is hurting and he doesn't want to cause even the tiniest bit of pain, but he tastes blood and Squalo doesn't know the definition of _slow_.

Squalo's hand is at his hip, tugging him closer, and before Dino realizes what he's doing, he's shifting across the floor and pulling the silver haired boy away from the edge of his bed. His hands are tangled in the mass of bright hair, bloodying the silky strands and the sides of Squalo's face as he presses their mouths together desperately. He wonders if he's going too far, too fast, too hard, but Squalo's moving under him, nails dragging over his hip, biting fiercely at Dino's now swollen lips and he decides he doesn't care and only wants _more_. And he really shouldn't be asking for more because this is more than he's ever dreamed of.

A calloused hand runs down his chest, deft fingers weary with fatigue popping open each button, and Dino lets out a harsh breath when calluses are replaced by nails scratching hard enough to leave marks. But this is Squalo, and anything gentle, even when he should be delirious with blood loss, is out of the question. When he feels the hand smoothing down his chest, fingers dipping just under the waistband of his trousers, the blond moves again.

Silver hair tickles his cheek as he places kisses (and bites, so many _bites_) down Squalo's neck, hands smoothing down the boy's thighs, now wrapped tightly around Dino's hips. And the swordsman lets a moan pass between his lips, back arching against the edge of the bed with a particularly hard bite, hips shifting against the other's as he wriggles in his lap. Dino wants to laugh because for all of his current disabilities, Squalo still wants to be in charge, but the sound changes from a laugh to a heady groan when he feels the hand work into his pants, gripping something vital. His hips buck forward into the hand wrapped around him, earning him a crooked smile from the silver haired boy. The desire to be closer, to _feel_ Squalo, overtakes him with each stroke, and he's not sure whether he wants too much or he's too clumsy, but he rips the shirt clinging to the other boy's chest, buttons clattering to the floor.

His hands are tangled in the material, and he can't help but notice the red smudges he's leaving against the stark white of the shirt and Squalo's chest. A strangled moan works its way out of his throat as Dino is brought from his reverie, a pair of lips pressing harshly against his own. Squalo's tongue is hot and wet against his, delving into his mouth, and Dino lets another groan escape into the kiss, hands moving to grip the other's hips and hesitantly plucking at the button hiding away the last bit of Squalo. Arms are wrapping around his back, silently begging and spurring him onward, a hand weaving harshly into Dino's hair as bandages press against his back. When Dino feels what he hopes is sweat rolling down his back and not blood (please, _please_, God, not blood), he arches forward despite himself, Squalo's moan vibrating into his mouth when his fingers finally find their target.

And Dino can't hold back any longer.

He's moving and Squalo's gritting his teeth, pale thighs now naked and shaking against Dino's, their lips and shirts bloodied, Squalo demanding more as they each grip the other, hands pumping an imperfect rhythm in unison. He's got too much pride to beg, but Dino is fairly certain he could make him with enough time and careful touches, but the swordsman's thumb brushes over the tip of his erection and Dino slumps forward, trying so hard not to give in.

He does.

It is nothing graceful. It is nothing perfect. It is pure and carnal, innocent and lust-driven, an infinite list of contradictions, and…perfect. Dino can't deny the perfect, tight heat engulfing him and his every thought. His breath catches in his throat, the strain of staying still making him shiver, and he hears Squalo chuckle weakly in his ear, words punctuated by breathy whimpers.

"Had enough, Cavallone?"

Oh _Lord,_ never. Never enough.

Squalo's cheeks are flushed and for all his teasing, Dino feels him shaking, the gentle rise and fall of his chest tensing with each hitched breath, and his nails slipping over the sweat coating the blond's neck. The blush is traveling down the swordsman's neck and as Dino watches the skin flare up under his gaze, he realizes those gray eyes are on him, half-lidded and _demanding_.

"Move."

Dino is staring back and barely registers the words on the other's lips, parted and panting. He moves a hand over Squalo's hip and marvels quietly at how warm he is and how soft-

"_Dino…f-fucking MOVE."_

His hips snap forward of their own accord, dragging a low whine from the back of Squalo's throat that only gets louder as Dino's thumb presses into a boney hip and he jerks back before burying himself deep in the other boy.

The words never leave Squalo's lips, but Dino watches them form and then immediately fall away in favor of gasps and moans and too many sounds that he doesn't have the right to hear the swordsman make. Squalo's eyes are shut tight, tears forming against his will and getting caught in pale lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. Dino can't help but watch the boy grit his teeth to stifle everything he's pent up, trying to escape into the thick air between them. His forehead falls against Squalo's, caught up in _hot_ and _tight_-

"…s-so _tight_…"

-and the warmth of untouched skin rebounding off the tops of his thighs with each thrust. And he feels like crying because everything about this is so wrong, but Squalo's moving and Dino forgets how to breathe.

He doesn't know how, but his arm finds its way under Squalo's leg and everything changes, and, really, he can't decide if it's better or worse. But, Christ, Squalo is getting louder, matching each gyration and clumsy jerk Dino throws at him, and the blond feels like he's being sucked in deeper. His stomach is wet with sweat and the aching length craving friction against his skin, Squalo's lips forming a coherent word against a sea of disjointed utterances.

"…D-Dino…"

The blond drives in harder, faster, harsh breaths mingling with the swordsman's, and Dino can't control the other's name falling from his tongue like a desperate mantra. He's too far gone to hiss in pain when Squalo weaves a hand into his golden locks, pulling, pushing, caressing all at the same time. Dino watches him, torn between absolute anguish and desire, struggling between fighting away Dino's gentle touches and giving in to them completely. The grip on Squalo's hip tightens just a fraction, and the blond hopes it's comforting.

Gray eyes open slowly, half lidded, and Dino definitely sees the green just at the center of his irises. He thinks he sees something else but can't place it because the look Squalo is giving him makes him weak and strong all at once. He wants to tell him he'll always save him, even if Squalo doesn't want it, that he'll always be there, that he lo-

They both gasp, hips rocking frantically, and Dino feels a shiver run up his spine, the ache in the pit of his stomach burning him from the inside out. He feels like he's grasping for something just out of reach, the ache building and overwhelming his focus entirely. Squalo's voice catches, nails scratching against the nape of his neck, trying to find purchase, and Dino lets the words slip out before he realizes it.

"_I-I've got you_."

And he knows Squalo understands, watching his cheeks flushing a shade darker as his lips capture Dino's in a harsh kiss. He's moving faster, any semblance of control slipping away with each thrust, their mouths locked and panting.

Squalo's shaking and tugging Dino closer, lips whispering against the others' before he bites the swollen skin, drawing a low groan from the boy. Dino is suddenly aware of impossible tightness around him, his breath catching helplessly in his throat as the swordsman fights back a loud cry. His hand reaches between them, grasping, pumping, and Squalo can't hold back anything, spilling himself over Dino's chest with a strangled gasp. The slick wet sliding over his chest is enough to do him in completely, but the moment Squalo's grips loosens, fingers and lips soft and needy against his skin, is when Dino loses himself, body shuddering as each wave crashes into him.

The blond slumps forward, lips desperately searching for the other pair, Squalo catching his own name is his mouth. Dino listens to their breaths slipping between trembling lips and dares not open his eyes because there is no way this is real. He's done nothing to deserve this. He's wanted and craved and _burned_ for it, for his friend, and never should have-

Dino opens his eyes as Squalo's hand travels languidly down his chest, rough calluses now feeling impossibly gentle against his skin. The swordsman is flushed, eyes still shut and head resting back against the bed at his back. A smile slides over his lips as fingers meet the sticky mess on Dino's abdomen. Though his voice is weak, he allows a hoarse chuckle.

"Absolutely disgusting."

"You'll get used to it," Dino hears himself say, immediately regretting it when bright gray eyes snap open. They watch each other for a moment, the blond's heartbeat drowning out all sound as he looks at Squalo, sweat soaked, pale, and bloodied, and thinks he's never seen a more beautiful thing in his life, and knows he never will.

"If this gets infected, I swear to God, I will fucking kill you, Cavallone."

He would have flinched at the words if he hadn't seen that smile, small and badly masking pain. Instead, Dino allows a grin, rubbing at his forehead with the back of his hand and thinks that yes, _that_ is as close to a plea for help as he's going to get.

**xxx**

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><p><strong><strong>So...about them Yankees...

(Comment? Review? Dance party? Pudding? Yes...more pudding)


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